


The Family Buisness

by motiveandthemeans



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Multi, Next Generation, Past Drug Use and Addiction, Post TFP, drugs talked about not actively used through course of story, mary is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13096917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motiveandthemeans/pseuds/motiveandthemeans
Summary: Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes and his wife Doctor Molly Hooper-Holmes are officially retiring from London life, moving to their family’s country home to spend their days beekeeping and conducting experiments. Now taking up residence at Baker Street as the world’s second consulting is their eldest Holmes child Amelia Elizabeth Anne Holmes joined by friend Doctor Rosamund Mary Watson. The middle Holmes, Beckett Michael Hamish Holmes recently returned to London from the American Grammy’s, having just won Best Score for Visual Media and Best Instrumental Composition. The youngest of the Baker Steer Bunch is Theodore Frances Scott Holmes, who shares not only his mother’s love of biology but his parents shared love of animals and is pursuing his Medical Doctorate in Veterinary Science with a concentration in Animal Pathology.





	The Family Buisness

**Author's Note:**

> The Next Generation :)

A pair of sea glass green eyes surveyed the London skyline; taking in her sights, smells and sounds. Cataloguing the different bus routes and tube stations, the families pushing prams, the couples holding hands and Rugby players prowling from bar to bar. The oppressively hot afternoon had given way to a gentle summer breeze, teasing her dark auburn locks. 

It had been a riotous day, full of celebration and merriment. Her best friend had just graduated medical school and has agreed to take run of Watson & Watson Surgery, the practice her father and mother started together. The rooftop of 221 B Baker Street was a welcomed escape from the downstairs festivities. 

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know. I know you’re upset I’ve taken up at surgery.” 

Amelia Elizabeth Anne Holmes looked over her shoulder at her blonde counterpart. “Mmmmm, do you now, Watson? How very astute of you. Must be some sort of record.” 

“No, no we agreed!” Rosamund replied, walking to stand beside her leggy friend. “I need to hone my practice before we go traipsing across London solving crimes and getting ourselves in sticky situations.” 

The brunette scoffed, crossing her arms with a pout. “Where is your sense of adventure, Rosie? You can’t honestly tell me the idea doesn’t appeal to you. We’ve been solving crimes together since we were seven and eight years old.”

“Yes and if it wasn’t for Greg Lestrade, God rest his soul, we’d probably been arrested by 11 and where would we be then?” The good doctor replied triumphantly, downing the rest of her champagne. 

Amelia’s bow lips frowned. “That’s completely irrelevant. We cannot entertain hypotheticals, we must examine our lives as they are before us.”

“Mercy you sound like your father.” Rosie laughed, slinging her arms across her brunette friend’s shoulders a bit drunkenly. “Don’t fret, Holmes. It’ll all work out.” 

“Ever the optimist, Watson.”

“C’mon, our mothers are drunk and I have a feeling our fathers are eager to get them home.” Rosie laughed, taking her friend by the arm and dragging her away from the rooftop garden. 

“I distinctly remember the last time that happened I ended up with a baby brother.” Amelia grumbled, elegant long strides outpacing Rosie’s petite steps.

* * *

Rosie Watson groaned, burying her head in her hands. It was 12:05 on her 295th day at Watson & Watson Surgery and she was already weighing the benefits of strangling herself with a stethoscope versus continuing on with the next impending case of strep throat or chlamydia. 

“Rosie, dear, your twelve o’clock, Mr. Clarke, is here.” Heather, the medical assistant said in her sing-song tone. “Says he’s got ‘hot pins in his pecker when he pisses.’”

She gave her a tight smile. “Great. Thanks a lot Heather. Be there is a jig.” 

Heather shut the door to her office and Rosie let out an exasperated sigh and rested her forehead against the desk. She went into medical school with the notion of excitement and joy at the idea of being a doctor. Her father always gushed about how rewarding it was to be there for a person at their lowest point. She understood paying her dues, but was this all really worth it? Graduated top of her class, with honors. All for the Chlap?

“Ah, Watson.” A new voice interjected into her train of thought. “Love what you’ve done with the office. Very…”

“Quaint?”

“Small.” Amelia scrunched her nose up, settling in the chair across from her. “Or cozy, which ever you prefer.” 

“What do you want, Mia?” the young doctor grumbled. “If you’re trying to snag a prescription for morphine, I’d remind you we do them electronically now. So your knack for forgery had now been antiquated.”

“Oh please, like that would stop me.” She replied nonchalantly. “I need your help. I’ve come across a rather curious case that is out of my range of knowledge.”

“Please tell me you didn’t flirt with the pathology students again to gain access to Bart’s morgue? You know your mother hates when you do that.” Rosie admonished, standing to put on her fancy white coat, a gift from her parents upon passing boards.

Her dark haired friend smirked. “Ask no questions, I will tell no lies.”

“Cheeky, Holmes…” Rosie flipped open her iPad, reviewing her patient chart. “Well, what’s the question? And be quick about it. I’m betting Mr. Clarke’s got a nasty case of Trichomonas.” 

“Riveting.” Amelia said dismissively.  
“Suppose a man was found dead on a pool deck in the middle of the hottest summer in 20 years, who upon examination was found to have died of hypothermia. Time of death is around 2 in the afternoon.”

Rosie raised a quizzical brow and tried to bite back a grin that for all the world reminded Amelia of her Aunt Mary. “Do you have any other information?”

“Perhaps. Interested?”

“No. I’m perfectly content in learning my chosen trade of medicine but you won’t leave until I give you my opinion so let’s just get on with it.”

Amelia produced a file seemingly out of thin air. 

“Hmmmm, hematocrit is increased by five percent, plasma potassium levels are definitely out of range, glucose below 40…all labs point towards hypothermia.” Rosie said. “So how does a person die during the hottest part of the day, on a public pool deck, of cold stress?”

“Still not intrigued, Rosamund?” 

Rosie stared down the taunting look in her best friend’s sea green eyes. “No. But if I were you I’d look into blood recently stolen from the blood bank.”

“Why is that?”

“He’s on the transplant list, waiting on a kidney.” She said. “Perhaps there was something haywire with his dialysis.”

“Curious case indeed! But who would want a special education instructor dead?” Amelia mused with morbid glee. “Oh yes, this case in improving by the hour!”

“Improving? The man’s still dead, Mia!”

“Yes well that’s not really the point though is it?” Amelia replied. “Come along, Watson. There’s work to be done.”

“Mia, I have a job. I can’t just drop everything and leave! It’s patient abandonment.” 

“As you wish. I’ll keep you informed of my progress.” The brunette said placidly, walking out of the office. “Give my best to Mr. Clarke!” 

“You’re welcome!” Rosie called after the closing door. With another angry huff, she gathered her things and prepared for her appointment with Mr. Clarke. 

She looked at the clock: 12: 13. The day just wouldn’t end.

* * *

Amelia Holmes paced the length of 221 B Baker Street. She knew that the victim, Mr. Halliwell, had been killed by one of the medical professionals he’d come into contact with. Only the nurse who had administered the blood in dialysis swore up and down that she’d warmed the blood before administration. Amelia had seen no lie her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, but why am I here?” Her youngest brother, Theodore, asked confusedly from the couch where he was reading a textbook on mammalian anatomy. 

“Because I need inspiration.”

“On why someone’s been murdered?” 

“Obviously…” She drawled as if it was the most obvious conclusion in the world. 

“When was the last time you ate?” He asked off handedly. “Mummy will be terribly cross if you start losing weight again.” 

“Your point?”

“Well, I go back to university in the September. I can’t be in three places at once, keeping an eye on you is a full time job in that of itself.” 

Mia frowned. “I’m going to miss having you here.” 

Teddy gave her a sweet smile. “You’re just saying that because I make better tea than you do.” 

“Figured it out, have you?” She smarted back with a wink. “Well, in any case it seems I’m in need of a flatmate.”

“It’s twins!” A new voice said triumphantly. “I know it!”

Amelia looked over at the doorway to see a flushed Rosie, still in the smart clothes she’d worn to surgery. “Don’t you have work? It’s only 4 o’clock. Your last patient isn’t till six.” 

“He’s got a twin brother that’s been sleeping with his wife.” Rosie continued. “I went to the school where he works, she’s not exactly bereaved by the loss of her husband of 36 years and she looked awfully cozy with his brother at the funeral. I followed them to a posh French restaurant just down the road. They’d only started on wine when I left.”

“You went to the funeral?” The youngest Holmes asked, bewildered at her audacity. 

“It’s never twins, Watson.” Amelia deadpanned. “Have you learned nothing from Sherlock?”

“You can call him Dad, you know.” Teddy said amusedly, setting aside his book and moving to the kitchen to start tea. The apartment looked much the same as it had when Sherlock and John had lived there, except the kitchen table that had once occupied lab equipment now played host to several monitors, CPU’s, laptops and GPS. 

“I prefer to call father by his name when working in a professional capacity.” She said retrieving her black Chanel bag and Burberry trench. “Don’t wait up, Theodore!”

“I never do!” He called back. Amelia smiled at her brother’s harmless sarcasm. 

“Wait, you’re not suggesting we actually stalk them?” Rosie replied indignantly. 

“You followed them to a funeral and you think going to the same restaurant is over stepping bounds?” Teddy said indignantly.

“Well, girl’s gotta have a code.” The blonde shrugged. 

“Come along, Watson.” The consulting detective smirked. “The game is on.”

* * *

“Well, that was quite invigorating!” Amelia announced loudly, an exhausted Rosie dragging her feet into Baker Street at 2 am. “I never would have suspected the wife would be in cahoots with the sister-in-law to kill the husbands for a measly state pension.”

“If I were writing a blog, I’d entitle this case A Study in Fuchsia.” The blond yawned. “I’m beat. I’ll sleep in Granny Hudson’s room.”

“It’s too bad we didn’t run into Cedric.” Amelia waggled her brows salaciously. 

Rosie rolled her eyes. “I’m over that childhood infatuation.”

“Whatever you say.” Amelia intoned.   
They stood quietly in the entryway, the heaviness of the situation palpable. 

“Look, Amelia. This doesn’t mean that I’m going to quit surgery. It was a one off.”

Amelia nodded. “Goodnight, Rosie.”

“Night, Mia.”

* * *

Amelia walked out of her bedroom in 221 B at 3pm the next afternoon, having not slept for quite some time while on the case. In the chair that had once been occupied by her father, Rosamund Mary Watson sat drinking tea and reading her iPad, dressed in ironed clothes and fresh make-up. She spied several suitcases by the door, though they weren’t Teddy’s luggage. 

“Ms. Holmes, I hear you’re in need of a flatmate.” She said, setting the tea cup down. 

“Word travels fast.” Mia grinned. “Could be handy having a doctor around.”

“Is there a vacancy?” Rosie teased with a sly grin. “I hear every consulting detective needs a physician with a penchant for writing.”


End file.
